Changing Tides
by Leara they said
Summary: Lara, a young mercenary with alien powers, is continuously drawn in by the Tau'ri. When she joins their Atlantis mission, she starts to remember a far past and discovers things she was forced to forget. However, doing so, she clashes with Col. Samantha Carter who doesn't appreciate her rootless ways. Part 3 of series, "Seize the Orbit".
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Not even sixty days since I published "Changing Priorities" and I've already reached my goal by starting this story. It will be different and it's written in past-tense. I would like to hear your reactions after reading this, but here it is: **Changing Tides!**

As you might have figured out, this is installment number three in a series I have named "Seize the Orbit". Sequel to Changing Priorities and Changing Circumstances, this story will make a lot more sense if you read the two first, but I guess you can read it without doing that. I would advise against it. This installment will be a lot longer than its predecessors.

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Stargate franchise.**

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**Chapter 1 of CHANGING TIDES**

She awoke with a jolt, the kind that only the body reacting to a changing environment could cause. Blinking rapidly, she resisted the urge to jump off the cot, possibly alerting her sleeping mates.

She _did _notice her own subtle pants from the nightmare, but willing to push them back, she pressed the base of her palm into her eye sockets, trying to wash away the nightmare. She swallowed deeply, eventually taming her pants. She had broken a cold sweat, making the sheets of the cot uncomfortable and damp to the touch. She swung her legs off the cot, feeling the cold, smooth surface beneath her feet, sending a shiver through her body.

Lara did not like to spend too much time in one place. It unrested her, made her feel exposed to the worlds. Although the vented air was cold by night, she wore only combat pants and a tank as she made her way through the ship. It was a purloined, modified Goa'uld cargo ship. Fine quality and minor damage from Jaffa operating throughout its years as Goa'uld property. She had taken the opportunity and named it _The Sylvester_. She had no idea where the word came from, but the only thing that came to mind when she'd first spoken it aloud had been a cat with black coat and red nose. _Sylvester _operated flawlessly, and the first thing that had been upgraded had been its cloaking technology. As a racketeer, Lara found it practical to be able to leave smoothly and quickly.

Even aboard the _Sylvester_, floating in space, Lara felt at odds. It was the fact that they were waiting a distress call that made the nightmares surface. Yawning, she moved gracefully through the ship, leaving the cargo section, the soundless operating system of the Tel'tak calming her. _Sylvester _was her home, her harbor, and had been since she acquired the ship. Her fellow mercenaries rarely understood her fondness of Goa'uld technology but so far, she was an unrivaled pilot despite her faulty risk assessment.

She slipped into the pilot chair in the cockpit, feeling the sensation of the ship responding to her as soon as her slender fingers touched the _delmac _crystal. Her affinity and intuition were admirable in the circles she kept, but also forbidden to ask about, much like the personal questions one would feel tempted to ask anyone. Pasts were private, legacies, legends and reputation not.

The darkness surrounding _Sylvester _was endless, sprayed with tiny sparkly stars that twinkled somewhere far away. Possibilities, Lara thought, as she watched with slight awe the wonders of star travel. This marvelous beauty was often shielded from them, as they spent most of their journeys in hyperspace.

Something moved behind her, stirring, and made her spin around in the chair, her hands leaving the _delmac_ which soon faded its glow. Recognizing the crewman, Lara sighed in relief and sat back down, her nerves still on alert. Their business wasn't trustworthy nor was the company they kept. Backstabbing was something Lara had gotten used to and had been on both sides of.

"Miron," she said, nodding to the man who refused to reveal his planet of birth, insisting that he had always been an "explorer". Miron was one of the few she trusted. He was also the first one to actually pry in her life and get away with it with all limbs intact.

"Lar, what're you doing up so late?" he mumbled, sitting down next to her, his eyes still sleepy and half-closed, one lid creating a perfect crescent of eyelashes.

"You know I can't sleep."

"Ah," he said, slightly more awake. "So you decided to have a little one-on-one with Sylvie, eh?" Of all the names Miron could have come up with, Sylvie was perhaps the most harmless. The first two days after the acquiring of it, he had protested against her naming it, not seeing the point, but she had outranked him, dubbing herself Captain.

She shrugged. "I get impatient. I don't like this," she replied, staring at the sky and the surface of a distant moon. The truth was she rarely needed sleep, less than her crewmen who were camped out on cots in the ring transportation area.

"You fear an ambush," Miron clarified. He knew her well enough to empathize with her fears and sensations. They had on two occasions saved their lives and doomed the rest, the doubtful. Miron had been probing her for the cause to those _sensations_.

"Who does not?" Lara pointed out, shrugging his comforting hands off her shoulders. She did not like such intimate touches, especially not by Miron. In her mind, she reminded herself that he, like she, was an opportunist by heart. They lived by a code of conduct of thieves. Casual comfort aside, Miron and Lara had merely agreed to cooperate for the time being, pushing any sort of rivalry aside.

"You always were intuitive," he said, referring to his disbelief at their first meeting nearly six months ago. In appearance, she was a healthy twenty-year-old woman. Her cunning mind had deceived him more than once.

She smiled at the memory; she dealt with sexism on an everyday basis – actually used it to her advance. She had easily been able to pose as a more primitive race, her olive skin, cinnamon-colored hair and blue eyes allowed her to pass for an Amish, given the right clothes. She was of average height on some planets, standing about five-foot-seven with long hair braided in a cord-like hairstyle. Comfortable combat boots along with military pants along with a black tank top. Her face possessed a strong jaw, stubborn but concealable, high cheekbones and a soft expression.

Miron returned an equally reluctant smile, wide even in its subtlety. His black hair gleamed in the dim light that lit the cockpit, distinguishing their silhouettes from casted shadows, tussled by sleep. His green eyes rivaled that, although his skin was pale in the technical light. "Too bad."

Lara knitted her brows skeptically, confused by the regret in his voice. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, Lar," Miron said and an ill feeling hit Lara. She didn't have the time to spin around before she felt the bulky end of a zatnektil pressed into the thin fabric of her top on her back.

"Miron...," she threatened, "To'na a'kel no'tar. zoya noc shom! _I will not tolerate such disrespect from my crew!_" Lara shouted out in Goa'uld. She had always been fluent, even posed as a Jaffa once. This, coming from Miron? She felt sick, weak, but also fueled with anger. Rage at Miron, at her crew, at herself for ever trusting mercenaries. It swelled in her along with disappointment of both sides. She was aware that only six had boarded the _Sylvester _on the outer galactic planet, meaning that, at best, she could take them out, but unarmed? Even she doubted those odds.

"We're taking the ship, _captain_," a man named Rowan mocked, pressing the gun further into her back. Lara hissed, partly annoyance and anger building up. Lara hated Rowan – he was one of those from whom she would always expect sexism.

"Over my dead body," she said through gritted teeth. "Shal nok. _Never_," she snickered, her voice deepening. The threat never left her voice, nor did the possible solution that if they backed down, they might all live.

"I'm not heartless, Lara," it came from Miron who seemed fed up with himself, a hint of doubt bleeding through. His slim form moved through the shadows. "And, yet it would have been much easier if you'd slept like everyone else."

"Not everyone," Lara pointed out, her eyes flickering to the men in the shadows; she was slightly surprised to see that this mutiny had spread to all the crewmen, even the slippery Hishak who usually obeyed her out of fear.

He grinned, amused but not mocking. "True, but that moon you see? We're gonna drop you off and take hold of the ship."

"You have no pilot near good enough to navigate this tel'tak within the mine field," said Lara angrily, pointing out her usefulness. Her fingers twitched for the feel of a zat gun.

"We're not entering any mine field," Miron simply declared.

"It was a suicide mission!" Rowan mocked, enjoying himself on this end of a zat; had it been different, Lara would have shot him already. Rolling her eyes, she couldn't keep herself.

"Then why did you take it?" Lara questioned sharply, satisfied when she saw the flicker of Rowan's rodent-like eyes. She felt him stagger before returning the zat to its embedment in her back. She kept back a wince.

"You know why, Lara!" the man growled. She exchanged gazes with Miron, seeing the doubts he had.

"You wanted them to believe you dead," she supplied, suggesting and guessing all the same. She felt Rowan's gun retreat.

"Yeah, but then I saw your navigating skills. They'd never think that. This way it'll be your head on the plate of the Goa'uld," Rowan confirmed.

Lara took the opportunity, seizing hold of the zat as she jolted her elbow back, into the solar plexus of the arms dealer, receiving a breathless crewman who staggered before falling to his knees. Mercilessly, Lara fired once, leaving no chance before turning the zat towards Miron, who was laughing heartily.

"How'd you know?" he grinned, lowering his gun. All hatred and rivalry slipped away as Lara eyed her ex-crewmember, Rowan.

"He'd mentioned owing a system lord. Never a good idea. Plus, I _am _wanted for several heists. We should do this more often. Spring cleaning," she pointed out, smiling broadly before kicking Rowan's unconscious body lightly.

"You got a _feeling_, didn't you? That's ridiculous! You could've ended up on a moon!" Miron complained, beginning to drag the traitor away. "Y'know, we can't just play the mutiny card every time you stop trusting people."

"I trust no-one, Mir. You should know that. If not, you're a fool. And what if it was one of my feelings? Have I ever been wrong?" she challenged, eyeing him.

"Don't wanna go there, kiddie," Miron said, dismissing the challenge. He threw a gun at her which she caught easily mid-air. She made a childish grimace before grinning.

Entering hyperspace (she might as well be useful in her insomniac state) with _Sylvester _was like riding a racing horse with a flying gait. Not that Lara often had the opportunity to ride, but she figured that'd be the sensation. Even so, she barely had to be awake to control the tel'tak; controlling Goa'uld technology had been an easy task for as long as she was able to remember. Unlike belief, she hadn't been a hostess to one; although it would be easier to explain if that were the case.

The interior of any tel'tak was all freedom she'd ever had. Two months ago she had escaped enslavement from a Goa'uld lord. Not as much escaped as fled after he was killed by a rivaling Goa'uld. She was, after all, an opportunist. She hadn't technically been a slave; she had been allowed to roam freely in her servitude, a tracking device in a bracelet she had since discarded. Sadly, that had been all she had ever known.

Miron was back in the cargo section with Hishak and the rest of the crew, thieves and frauds. Mercenaries. Lara had high hopes of one of them, Sarin and his daughter, Neera, who he had left on another planet doing reconnaissance. Testing the waters, so to speak.

"What are you, like, a lo'taur or something?" her second-in-command asked, suggesting she was a human slave of a Goa'uld.

"No," she replied simply. She had never been close enough to her lord to be considered a lo'taur. Roaming freely and recklessly amongst mercenaries, pretending to only serve herself. She had never believed the parasitic race to be gods; powerful beings, yes, but capable of making mistakes in the hands of their own arrogance. They truly believed themselves to be superior, which was ironic, given their own deceit. They had thrived because of their own stealing of technology they considered superior. She scoffed at their methods, then realized she was no better. Yes, she was a thief, but that was all she had to fall back on. She had never told Miron that she had served the Goa'uld. Not that she was ashamed; just not ready for the reactions.

"So, we off to go?"

"That we are," Lara confirmed, her hands controlling the _Sylvester. _She had little mercy left to traitors, even in their line of work. She admitted to this being a suicide mission, though, because none of the potential buyers would ever risk traveling through a mine field like the Chaz. They had, however, not met the pilot that was Lara. She couldn't remember learning to fly the cargo ship, but it was as if she had done it most of her life.

Miron sat down beside her, his eyes on the wide sky before them, his attention equally on her and the mine field they would encounter in thirty minutes time. He said nothing yet a question remained.

"There's nothing to tell, Miron. The success of this mission will be rewarded pleasantly. Don't tell me you're too afraid?" she teased, her voice ambiguously tense and relaxed.

"No, just impressed," he told her, adjusting his shirt cuffs. He had dressed after dragging Rowan to the back, installing him unconsciously in one of the escape pods. If needed, they could simply eject him into space, leaving him to be collected by frequent space traffic. Lara smiled at the thought of her trademark devil-may-care attitude, but at no point would Rowan be in danger unless he tried to con whoever hitchhiked him. Thinking about it, Rowan would probably dismay anyone who picked him up, so she decided to keep him about, afraid to spite someone unintentionally despite her reputation for being just that: spiteful.

Their mission, Rowan currently excluded although he would be forced to be watching from the sidelines, was not completely standard. Fly through a lethal mine field and grab the artifact, then return via an alternative route. Discretion was one of her formidable traits when it came to dealing in racketeering. They all walked a crucial and thin line. Only the truly cunning and vindictive, not to say, lucky, mercenaries reached the age of what had been considered mid-life in most species. Unhappy clients made severely good shooters and grudge-holders. Not to mention the fact that if you screwed over a fellow mercenary, not all would be as forgiving. Countless planets were off-limits in Lara's book because of that reason until a more promising job would surpass her safeguards.

Even though Rowan had now been tied up and taken care of, Lara couldn't shake that unsettling feeling. Her and Mir had come up with the plan as they went along as a precaution to any attempt from the crewmen to hijack _the Sylvester. _Lara's baby.

Miron's eyes once again settled on her left bicep. The edges scorched and not quite healed, the mark of Erebus, the Goa'uld who had enslaved her. Instead of covering it up, she wore it somewhat proudly, shunning its shame. However, most of their deals went easier if she were to conceal her tattoo. It was still there, though, like a weathered part of her skin, never to be forgotten. Uneasy with the attention, she grabbed her jacket, always on the back of the pilot's chair. It was her less favorite one, although jacket couldn't be applied to her favorite item of clothing; it was skins sown together in a loose and long vest, able to be tied together in the front; most of the time she kept it open so weapons wouldn't bulkily stick out, letting the sides fan out behind her when she walked (for the sake of intimidation). This one, however, was made of canvas like an unpainted painting. Rough and grained, it reminded her of hard labour.

Miron had sensed the need to remain focused and guided his gaze elsewhere. "So, who're we're serving this time?"

"Ourselves, of course," she grinned playfully, then got serious. "I've got two potential buyers. If one is more interested in us than the prize, then.."

"... then we flee and get paid elsewhere. Risky, but resourceful of you, kiddo."

Lara's eyes gleamed with the thrill of an adventure to come. She thrived in the face of danger when it was unavoidable. Excitement and playfulness were often seen behind the blue orbs of mischief that echoed off the bounty hunter slash mercenary slash thief. Whatever paid the best; con artists were richly rewarded these days. There was always the greed of the Goa'uld to fall back on.

After a ride worth of the _Sylvester, _Lara jumped out of hyperspace as they reached the mine field. The mines protected a long-deceased Goa'uld and had not been accessed in some time. Behind the line of defense (mine of defense might be more precise in this case) was a small, unpopulated planet without a chappa-ai, ensuring that the only way to get to atmosphere was successfully navigating through the powerful mines with naquadah sources. A hard task, but nevertheless unproven by a skilled pilot like Lara and a modified tel'tak with detection sensors that rivaled most of what was out there. No, she was confident that she would not hit one of the mines or alert their detectors.

"Well, now it's up to you, Lar," Miron said, clapping her shoulder. His two sets of eyes watched the mines, occasionally quivering as he winced. She couldn't help but chuckle lightly despite her attention being intensely on the mine field.

They made a nice pair, the two. She had slept with him, but not had sex or sought romantic company. No, closeness was hard to come by these days, and despite the charade that had just taken place, Miron was her guess at a steady partner. She figured she had time to find someone.

One mine lured dangerously above the _Sylvester_ and even Lara held her breath as it disappeared out of their sight, not daring to take her eyes off the vision before her cockpit. She suspected as much from Miron, too, who observed and warned her accordingly when she missed a mine with her otherwise sufficient heed. It was exceptionally time-demanding, and Lara itched for release when they passed the final mine, causing five sets of sighs of relief amongst the crewmen, herself included. Normally she liked to bring speed into the equation but she didn't want to risk it here, however the treasure that awaited them. Which was the reason to bringing anyone besides Miron; they didn't know what kind of booby-trapped safeguards that awaited them once they broke orbit and landed. From their scans, the atmosphere was breathable with low radiation levels.

The tel'tak operated as it should and the landing was soft. Miron and Lara took point, then waited for Sarin, Hishak and Debian to follow suit.

"Okay, people, scanners showed no life-signs, but I don't want to be overconfident. The mines are not necessarily the only protection. Hishak, you stay with Rowan and if I don't find that tel'tak here when I come back, I will pierce your skull with the nearest branch before I think twice," Lara warned, her eyes narrowing at the dark-haired man. Her facial expression went fierce as they spread out, not before Miron could smirk at her.

"You really think that'll keep him from chickening out?"

"I installed safeguards to prevent anyone else to fly the _Sylvester _out of here," she revealed confidently, starting to trot through the terrain, arms by her side in their sheaths. One of them was a seven-inch machete that served well as a means to venture through well-foliaged terrain. Another was zat, the third a weapon she had traded on the market on Belasquar.

Miron chuckled behind her but had trouble keeping up with her pace. It was obvious that the planet had not been explored or populated in a while. After an hour's march, there were still no signs of civilization, primitive or otherwise. They did, however, find the stronghold of the Goa'uld who had ruled here, perfectly untouched by anything aside from nature. It was atop a hill, narrow of what had once been paths leading to the doors of the treasure chamber. Golden and glinting righteously in the sun, it was there for the taking. Debian and Sarin quickly joined her and Miron before they made their way into the abandoned fortress.

No codes were required, and Debian swiftly removed the panel and hacked the security protocols. They proceeded into the lion's den, retaining a sufficient tempo all whilst taking in the rarity of beholding the sight of Goa'uld home. The walls were bare, only script in Goa'uld marking the gold (which Lara happened to read like children's books). They told the tales of a great god – pure propaganda – and his followers and the acolytes, the Jaffa. Lara wrinkled her nose in dismay but didn't comment. Either way, there were Jaffa uprisings against most Goa'ulds. It had taken them long enough to realize the inauthenticity of godhood in those they hallowed. Perhaps that was what had happened with this Goa'uld; killed by his worshippers and loyal servants.

After walking the mazes of hallways, they reached what seemed to be the Goa'uld's private quarters (not that the genderless parasites needed them). Dust marred any horizontal surface, papers were molded, furniture unrecognizable. Even a termite would have up and left by now.

"Wow, it's true what they say," it came from Debian. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Trying to up the mood, Lara asked: "Yeah? Well, what do they say, Deb?"

"Silent as a tomb," he replied, rummaging for trinkets he'd be able to sell to some well-hearted farmer on the next market. He was on guard, though, his left arm tense by his sidearm, should anything go unplanned.

Lara snorted, then began pressing the walls for a blind door that was concealed from the common uninterest of trespassers. She had vague intel that this particular Goa'uld liked tricking and hiding – especially combining the two, as seen by the mine fields. But damn if she had to leave without the treasure! She was, if anything, proud.

Suddenly, she hit the right key, a Goa'uld symbol for "holy solitude". In hindsight, she should have known. Everything happened so fast. She was standing within the crescent of a circular platform that turned quicker than she could anticipate, replacing the empty spot with a bare place with the same symbolized wall sans Lara. It swung fast, bringing her out of balance. She fell back into the hidden chamber which was eerily lit by wall-hung torches.

She got up swiftly, scraping her palms in the process but didn't think anything of it. By the help of the lit torches, she was able to see the dim chamber once she had squinted a few times. The chamber was empty, the only standing out the dais on the opposite wall. She approached it stealthily, her body defensive, ready to act upon impact. The back of the dais glowed weirdly, faintly, and above it was an enormous gemstone. Lara smiled wickedly, thinking that since her client hadn't claimed this, it was there for the taking. She unhinged the machete and begun looking for a weak spot to pry it out from its nest. She placed her knee unto the seat of the dais for better balance so she could place more power and pressure on the blade of the weapon, sensing the gem begin to loosen.

A swift air entered the room, seemingly from nowhere. She could hear the other crewmen's muffled voices from behind the wall, some ecstatic, others upset and worried. She figured she could be absent a few minutes before they tried anything powerful. Debian was probably occupied and it would take Miron a few to convince him to find the key. She hoped that some of them knew enough Goa'uld to come by.

"_Dareth thou to enter here!_" a voice asked out of nowhere. Lara turned once, frowned, but then resumed her prying of the gem. It was stuck in there, but damn if she..

"_Lara Kellogg!_" it snickered scornfully. Now she listened. It was male, and before she had written it off as a security measure that was placed to scare off the rebels, but now she was intrigued. She slided down the dais, looking along the panels for a secret doorway.

"Who're you?" she questioned flippantly, machete still in hand. It spoke in the interstellar language of the chappa-ai, not Goa'uld, which was intriguing in itself. Personally she hoped it was Ancient technology; that sold richly on the market. Like one of those eyes that transferred knowledge.

"_I am past_," it replied.

"Yeah, I can see that," she snorted, glancing at the dusty walls. Then thunder was heard and the orb of the gem glowed dangerously.

"_Insolence!_"

"Well, what can you do?" Lara remarked, then decided to play the more obedient card. She had no idea how to get out of there without use of explosives; and, this device, biased and having developed its own meanings, might be able to help them. She had encountered weirder things in her time as a young, adventurous mercenary.

"_Being compliant does not become you, rebel_," it said after a short pause, as if reading her mind and intentions. "_My purpose is to see truth_."

"A lie detector. Huh, funny place to hide you," Lara commented, giving up on the thing, searching the walls for hidden clues.

Its deep voice evaporated. "Veritas, Lara, truth. Your kind always hide it."

Lara rose an eyebrow at its cryptic message, then searched her mind for answers to its enigma. She had no idea about the etymology of _veritas_, but stuck to its explanation, however patronizing it was.

"You know where the treasure is," she realized, spinning around to face the gem (which she suspected was the device's interface, which, sadly, had proven unmovable). She felt ridiculous talking to something that didn't breathe for a living, but those terms could apply to other creatures that roamed the galaxy. Lara had never been picky about clients, only their morals and ethical tendencies.

"Shallow treasure, yes, but you seek something else," it clarified.

"Well, eternal youth and wealth wouldn't pass my nose..," she began, but was stunned by the sight before her eyes; the size was about right for what they'd come for. She raced to it, beginning to examine it as the words soaked in. "Wait, whaddya mean, 'seek something else'?"

Annoyed and slightly enraged by its ability to stir her in another direction, she nevertheless wanted to know what it had seen in her mind. She stood up and went back, facing the dais once again. She was pretty sure that had its interface been human, it would have smirked self-satisfied about now.

It paused, seemingly hesitating. "Your quest for truth has been lessened by your actions along the way, but ultimately, your goal is to find the truth of your enslavement. The Tau'ri –."

More Lara never got to ask, because in that moment, it chose to quieten and open the secret passageway completely. Miron jumped into the chamber, his eyes traveling the room like hers had done, looking slightly worried but then his gaze found the artifact. A satisfied smile was tucked into place.

"Pesky morals, huh?" Debian pointed out, eyeing the artifact while Sarin was checking its authenticity. "Although cutting forty per cent for yourself was a bit greedy, don't you think."

Lara quickly rebounced, recovering from the cryptical message. "I anticipated someone would betray me; I merely pre-counted his cut to favor me."

"Then why hire Rowan?" Deb asked, making sure the door wouldn't trap them in here.

She shrugged casually. "I didn't know who would betray me."

Debian opened his mouth, but Miron cut him off from whatever he meant to say. "Don't think about it, Deb. It's the Kellogg method," he said with a flashing smile.

"'Kellogg method'?" Debian repeated, glancing at Lara for approval. Again she shrugged casually.

"'Always expect to be betrayed'," she said in unison with Miron; he knew it from working with her countless times.

Debian looked semi-surprised. "Wow, that's cold."

"That's why I'm in charge, Deb," Lara pointed out confidently, then gestured that they were okay to move. Sarin nodded, granting the artifact what they were looking for. Debian and Miron rose it to their shoulders and started to carry it. Slowly, they made their way back to the _Sylvester _in the beaming sun which was now in zenith.

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**What do you think?**

**A/N: **As for the category, I promise it will be lots of Atlantis later, but so far, we're in our galaxy.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Dead air, huh? You guys really must hate this story or everyone's gone on vacation sans Internet. Unlikely. One favorite story, no reviews. _LEAVE A REVIEW?_ Well, here's second chapter. It's not as good as I would have liked, but it continues Lara's journey. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything remotely related to the Stargate franchise. That belongs to its respective owners and creators. I wish, though.**

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Two weeks later, Lara groaned, rolling out of bed and thus out of reach for the male hands that held her possessively in grasp. She yawned, rubbing her eye sockets before redressing. The night was beautiful on whatever planet she was on. She had quitted the mercenary act for the time being; not that she needed to hide out. She had been right, they had been richly rewarded for the artifact. Enough to fuel the _Sylvester _for more missions, but she had declined Miron's, and surprisingly, Debian's offer about joined heists. She had told Sarin to give her greetings to Neera, hoping to see them in the none-too-near future.

Commuting from planet to planet was, while not fruitful, kind of relaxing. She had offered to translate some Goa'uld once, but hadn't stolen anything or acquired by other means. She was actually feeling a bit good about herself, but then they dreams had come. Lara refused to call them nightmares, damning the notion out of pure self-preservation. She had gone to purchase some herbs the other day, but had been interrupted mid-walk and forced to leave. No, her days were slumberous, almost boring.

What nagged her was the device from the mine field planet. What it had said, specifically, or what it hadn't said. It had mentioned the Tau'ri, the chappa-ai-venturing enemy of the Goa'uld. Lara had never found herself drawn to something before, less of all the moralistic Tau'ri with their allies. Last she heard Vala Mal Doran had joined them, which she, at the time, had pitied. Her line of business had lost a great con artist. Now she heard rumors about Vala still operating, which made her think her leash with the Tau'ri was looser than it should be.

Lara, more unknown and new to the business, had no place doubting their decision. She knew the address to the chappa-ai of the Tau'ri, but was also aware of their safety precautions. They had a metal shield that could envelop the event horizon, making sure that any uninvited guests were vaporized. Lara wasn't a fool; she kept away from the Tau'ri. The population didn't even know about the chappa-ai or the worlds that awaited them, which made trade hard but not impossible. Their planetary defenses against ships being picked up on their radars, however, were another story. Lara shivered at the thought of her beloved _Sylvester _crashing after being hit by the Tau'ri and their ignorantly superior weaponry.

She had considered offering her permanent services to another Goa'uld. While free-spirited, she acknowledged the kind of wealth that came with being aligned. She knew more than enough of the language to come by and was even able to distort her voice enough to fool Jaffa. Something about it bothered her, though, and that was the reason to her own seclusion.

She swallowed and thought about the words of the device. _Your quest for truth has been lessened by your actions along the way, but ultimately, your goal is to find the truth of your enslavement._

Was that her purpose in life? Stealing, conning and offering her services to those who wanted it to stop herself from finding some sort of enlightenment? Of that she was unsure. It wasn't a quest per say, but vague memories of her life before her life in Erebus' service tended to bleed through, making her question how she was recruited.

The room she stood in had five tanned walls, creating a pentagon with a door (a cloth) on one wall, window on the opposite wall. A full-body mirror had been placed inappropriately opposite the bed for reasons unknown, but it offered a great view over the room and had helped Lara fall asleep. Now she looked at her mirror image, her body coated in moonlight, the semi-dark hair almost blue. She looked so vulnerable, so young. While she claimed to be twenty, she barely looked old enough to be eighteen. A light breeze from the window made her hair whip against her face, exposing the ever-reminder of her enslavement. Immediately after her freedom, she had tried to use several ointments to cover the tattoo, but her skin had been tender and sweat washed it away too easily. It did, after all, make her look older, wiser, more weathered. She had been an early bloomer as far as her recollection told her.

The man stirred in his sleep in the bed behind her. She made no move to flee, but instead studied her face. The last time she had had a chance to look upon her face had been months ago. Now, when she looked at herself, she barely recognized the young woman in front of her. Often she looked in the crowd, looking for a woman or a man with her eye color. She wondered whose eyes she had inherited, or if she looked like her mother at all. Her slender fingers, were they inherited from an artistic mother or from a farming father? Questions like these did hunt her, but she had never thought of her search as a quest. The fact that she remembered separate lives did make her wonder.

The memories had awoken while she was in Erebus' claws. Resurfaced during her nightmares, she hadn't thought much about them at first, believing them to be conjured dreams. But then, as she investigated out of curiosity and unsettling boredom, she found herself seeing patterns in the vivid dreams, recognizing new things and quickly getting ahead. She didn't rebel against Erebus; she defied him in the smallest ways possible, being difficult but never enough to be executed. Somehow, Erebus had been fond of her. Not unlike one would a child, he had been merciful at her actions of rebellion, allowing her freer passage where others would have been punished. Whether his intentions had been to groom a host or his forbearance had been due to fear was unresolved. He had been killed before she could take action, always having some excuse for her troubling dreams. She now suspected he had suppressed her memories somehow with the alluring aspect of future treasure. He had played her fondness for trinkets and gold and power into his favor. She felt utterly cheated.

Maybe Miron had been right (which bothered her more than she cared to admit): maybe Lara had been the lo'taur of Erebus. Had she not reaped the goods from Erebus allowing her to roam freely? Had she not, in similarity to the Goa'uld, thought her own needs above that of strangers? Greedily, she had used one heist after another, proving herself to be immensely good at finding treasure if it came with a rich reward. Those things scared her. She had treaded sacred grounds for the sake of technology she didn't even understand! For ideologies she did not even comprehend! For the sake of proving her God to be the grandest and mightiest!

Lara felt sick to her stomach at the realization. A bad taste welled in her throat. She staggered back, suddenly ill by the thought of her actions. Memories of her heists floated through her mind, some independent, others in the service of Erebus, some alone, others like the one she had just been on.

The cinnamon-haired woman quickly packed her things, left the sheet behind and redressed in her loose pants and t-shirt. She tied her shoes quicker than ever, the laces of the boots knitted across her shins promptly. She was so used to leaving abruptly that it was almost second nature, a failsafe to fall back on in hostile situations. She considered it cowardice. Useful, but cowardly.

The walk back to the tel'tak was refreshing and helped clear her mind from the many heists. It did, however, leave her wondering about the possible connection between her frenzied memories and what the device on the mine field planet had said. The star-clad sky above her yielded little advice at what best way to get any sort of cohesion. Her vest fanned out behind her as she found herself looking for advice the simplest places. The stream ran smoothly by her feet next to the trail, the moon reflecting upon it, splashing against the small shores. The name of the planet hit her like a whirlwind. _Simarka_. In the last decade woman's rights had blossomed, leaving the planet and its tribes under serious development. From a society where women could be executed, and _would_, because of not wearing head veils that covered their lower faces to an almost equal rights society where some traders were even females. Simarka was a beautiful planet with lukewarm nights. The natives were primitive and lived in tents or simple buildings of clay with pentagon-shaped rooms like the one she had just spent a night in.

Lara exhaled deeply. The medicine of Simarka was almost unrivaled, its natural herbs effective. The shavadai were good people, a little tribal at best, but good traders she had met in the past. Neither of these things seemed alluring now. As she approached _Sylvester_, she didn't even think about the way her absence would be explained. She had other things in mind than pesky conflicts.

**x SEIZE THE ORBIT x**

It was with held breath Lara had convinced herself to do this. Of course, the act itself required total arrogance, not a moment of self-doubt, which came surprisingly easier to her than she would have liked. There were immediate benefits and damn her if she didn't recognize the pleasure it gave her to be able to command beings to her every wish. For once it was empowering to be the final voice, the one who ultimately decided if others would live or die. Pleased and equally horrified that people believed her so easily, it was almost poutingly disappointing to reach the point where she would have to face the consequences of her deception. She had almost forgotten that she would have to be rebelled against in order to attain her goal. The means, however, were luxurious.

"Sitra," he greeted maliciously, bowing more in mockery than respect. A snicker bared Lara's teeth but she made no move to correct the disrespectful mannerism. She sauntered to him, the golden clothes dragged behind her like a pompous veil, a river of pure gold. Her hips moved theatrically and with the grace of a predatory lioness. The Goa'uld hand device rested on her left hand, ready for use. With a distorted voice, she began to speak. She had to keep herself from flinching at its rang.

"Jaffa, kree!"

He fell to his knees promptly, held by his fellow Jaffa. She stretched her hand out as if to touch him, then saw the pure fear in the eyes of the spectators as her head shot up.

"Leave us!" she ordered, her voice marred with symbiotic depth. The remaining Jaffa and servants left the room, only the defiant one left, unarmed. She didn't know what gave her the most pleasure.

"Sitra, my goddess.." he began, but she cut him off. There was obvious betrayal in his tone.

"Rad'rac, I grant you forgiveness," she said, losing the distorted voice and retreating her hand. She held the moment as long as could, feeding on its power. "I am no god. Not even Goa'uld as I lead you to believe," she admitted, her eyes unto the now confused Jaffa. She knew he was part of the Jaffa resistance and that was why she had chosen him as her Prime. She twinned her palms in a thinking gesture, a praying gesture in other cultures. She deemed it appropriate.

"False gods.."

"The Goa'uld are false gods, but I am no Goa'uld," she declared with a certain venom in her words. She hated the mere suggestion that she was such, but it had been necessary. While she could have obtained the same knowledge through posing as a Jaffa, her gender made it much harder. The Jaffa came to the last Goa'ulds with wishes to extinguish them. By posing as one, she had made a target of herself but also made it far easier to contact the Free Jaffa Nation. Something that was harder than one would assume.

"How can I be certain?" the Jaffa bravely asked, his eyes falling unto her hand. "You possess the ability to use the _kara'kesh_," he pointed out.

She blushed casually, no particular reason and looked down at her hand, amused. "I do, don't I? It is a natural ability of mine. It has nothing to do with Goa'uld possession, I ensure you."

Truthfully she knew that she had some sort of affinity with Goa'uld technology because of naquadah present in her blood. She had no idea why it was there. She had never been a host.

Rad'rac slowly rose to his feet, confused but testy. "What is the purpose of this deceit?" he asked, anger rising.

She knew his anger, knew why, but despite posing as a Goa'uld, she had slaughtered no innocents, executing no-one. If anything, he should be grateful. If she had been, her eyes would have glowed by now and he would have been dead. Yeah, she had enjoyed it a little bit.

"I wish to go to your Council," Lara said, removing the hand device. The metal ribbons always left marks on her skin, reddish bruise abrasions. She winced ever-so-slightly when it came off, taking with it a layer of skin on her wrist. It fell to the floor with a clatter. Rad'rac, obviously surprised, widened his eyes at the weakness.

"Why not use the more..," he paused. ".. proper channels?"

Lara looked down on her wrist, examining the small scrape as she spoke. "Because I wish to speak to one individual specifically," she said like it was obvious.

"And whom might that be?" he asked, his hold on the staff weapon she had given back to him tightening.

Lara laughed lightly. "Bra'tac."

**x SEIZE THE ORBIT x**

It seemed the plan wasn't as easy as first intended. Rad'rac had agreed to take her to Dakara, the Jaffa stronghold, for examination. Lara suspected that Tau'ri or Tok'ra technology were to prove that she spoke the truth and had no symbiote within her. They took the _Sylvester –_ per Lara's request – and she had more than enough time to explain her situation, however, she didn't. The Jaffa was suspicious of her already and was inclined not to believe half of what she told him. Once she had stripped of the golden wristlets and anklets and quickly changed into a more casual outfit, she joined him in the cockpit of the tel'tak. It was weird, seeing another fly _Sylvester_. In many ways, it had become more than a mere means of transportation; a home, a sacred ground and a child of sorts.

She watched with curiosity as the Jaffa's shoulders tensed as she stepped closer. She knew the feeling of distrust all too well, but was slightly repelled at being on the receiving end. At least in her line of business, the pretense of what wasn't was to come by. With one fixed hand, he took something out of his wristband, a light-grey cylinder approximately a half inch by two, the size of a broad finger. He injected himself with ease.

"What was that?" she inquired.

"Tretonin," he explained. Lara furrowed her brows in dear confusion. He made no attempt to elaborate, so she instead slipped into the other chair of the tel'tak, staring at the seemingly endless starry darkness before their eyes. She missed Miron at times like these and found herself wondering where he was in the galaxy.

She admitted that it hadn't been a perfect plan. Far from it, spun in a minute's time, or, more precisely, the time it took flying to a formerly Goa'uld-occupied world and convince the primitive villagers that she was a god. It had been startlingly easy, too easy and had brought back realizations from the night in Simarka. Now she could cross off that of her list. _Posing as a Goa'uld_. That had to be the lowest move she'd ever made, and already now she regretted it. But, as she'd pointed out before, she was proud and she would never admit her plan to have been failure.

She was truly that wayward if she had turned into a con artist with such low standards. However, a voice inside her head kept asking, _but you got what you came for, didn't you?_

Rad'rac moved in his chair uncomfortably. Lara sent a glance in his direction, but chose not to speak. The more she cooperated, the more likely it was that she was granted audience to see Bra'tac. He was well-known across the galaxy for having been the mentor to Teal'c, the first of many to rebel against the Goa'ulds. A remarkable task at the time, Lara reminded herself. It was the efforts of Jaffa that had pushed the Goa'ulds to the point where they killed one another for sanctuary and loyal servants and Jaffa, which had ultimately been what had set her free.

Despite this, she couldn't find herself being grateful.

"We should be at Dakara soon," the pale-skinned Jaffa informed her steadily, his voice leaving no hints as to where she found herself in his mind. His musclebound body was clad in the standard charcoal grey Jaffa uniform, the neckpiece discarded in the cargo hold. Lara had never studied the symbols on the uniforms – armor seemed more appropriate, she determined – but now, even in the dim light settings of the cloaked tel'tak, she could make out symbols and read it like an open book. Phrases like 'holy warrior' and 'serving true god' were prominent and numerous, but soon drowned in the mass.

"You know Goa'uld," Rad'rac commented while his hands rested on the delmac.

"Yes," she confirmed, wondering if his words were a statement or a question.

"How?" he asked appalled. She let her sleeve slide down and exposed her shoulder, or, more exactly, the mark of Erebus.

"Tal shakka mel. _I die free_," she cited, a painful expression on her face. "Posing as a Goa'uld came as a last resort. I, too, remember being a servant of a false god," she said scornfully.

Rad'rac seemed satisfied with the answer. Soon they entered the orbit of Dakara and the surface stretched out before their eyes, the ocher-red landscape with its templar style halls and meeting auditoriums astounding. They flew past the dome where Lara presumed the Ancient weapon rested, now clad in sand and mountain, awaiting its remerging. Columns held the architectural buildings and it was with awe she found herself glancing upon the renovated city of the Jaffa nation.

They landed swiftly, Lara with held breath. Dust and sand speared up around them, clouding them in ocher-rich sphere, but they departed the _Sylvester _easily in an area reserved for parking ships, particularly tel'taks and death gliders. Lara shivered with unease but threw one last glance at her ship before following Rad'rac on the wide path.

She was a frequent flyer of the area of the galaxy, but had never been on Dakara before; not even before it fell to the Ori. Trading opportunities were rare and jobs even fewer amongst the noble Jaffa. They were proud and fought honorably. Even then it was with a certain amount of tension that she found herself surrounded by this many Jaffa whose families had fallen in battle against the Goa'uld generations ago, yet fresh wounds still remained in their heads. If they decided that she was indeed a Goa'uld or loyal, there was little she could do to convince them otherwise.

They ascended the stairs of what looked to be an ancient building, columns bearing the marble roof. Lara was filled with an unknown awe at the architecture. She was set to wait in one of the halls, and momentarily alone, she studied the lack of Goa'uld gold and symbols. It was.. oddly refreshing. It reminded her of a place of scholars and education.

"You sought to see me?" an old and wise voice asked, remarkably fresh. Lara spun around to see the form of Bra'tac. He was shorter than she had expected him to be, but made up for it in agility and respect. She bowed her head in respect despite her devil-may-care attitude.

"Tek ma te," she found herself greeting the master. He seemed surprised by her young age and her knowledge of the Goa'uld but recovered quickly.

"You know of me," he stated, then his wise eyes flickered to her state of dress. He wore the robes of Dakara while she was dressed simply in pants and a cotton top. Her skin gleamed with sweat from the exposure to the sun. Earlier she had scooped her hair into a horsetail, few strands having found their way into her eyes again, now plastered to her forehead.

"My name is Lara," she introduced herself. "I, er, used to be in the service of Erebus."

"You are not Jaffa," Bra'tac concluded, his eyes narrowing slightly at the statement but he remained kind and non-threatening.

She shook her head, her blue eyes glinting with expectation. "No," she declared defeatedly. A staring contest seemed present and then evaporated. She wasn't sure, but she now held his respect.

"What can I do for you, Lara?" he asked almost grandfatherly. He looked withered, even for a Jaffa. He had lived many decades.

"I.." Damn, she'd prepared a great speech! Stammering, she began to formulate her plea. "Since Erebus fell, I have been free. I have taken up a living mosts might consider.. dishonest, but only in the best interest of my gifts."

"Gifts?"

"Yes," she concluded. "I am fluent in Goa'uld and the technology responds to me despite the fact that I have never been a host. That was how Rad'rac found me," she admitted sheepishly.

"He was sent to execute the Goa'uld Sitra," the old man told her although why remained an enigma; he didn't seem to pass judgment on her action of posing as a Goa'uld, yet was disapproving at the same time.

"I regret that," she flippantly apologized. "I improvised."

Bra'tac laughed. "You do indeed remind me of the Tau'ri, child."

Instead of replying venomously that she was in no way related to the Tau'ri with a snicker, she found herself startled at the comparison to the Tau'ri. It was the second unrelated time that somebody had connected her to the Tau'ri in only a matter of weeks.

"I am no child."

"No?" He looked almost amused. "How old are you?"

"Twenty years," Lara lied.

Bra'tac rose a brow but dismissed the idea of confronting her. The master gestured for her to sit down. They had walked for a while, and Lara had not noticed that they had entered a smaller hall, open but also more private. She obeyed.

"Then you were a child when you were taken by Erebus," he noted, the grace and wisdom of a warrior in his gravelly voice.

Startled, Lara said what came to mind. "It wasn't that sort of agreement."

"I made no insinuation," Bra'tac insisted. "But tell me, young one, why have you come to see me? Several things could be said to most Jaffa and I am none the superior."

"I .. discovered an artifact on a planet that told me I had a quest," she admitted, looking down in her lap. It was ridiculous to think he wouldn't think it foolish.

"A quest?" Obviously Bra'tac couldn't see his importance in the matter.

"No, you don't understand, master Bra'tac. With all due respect, you do not. This artifact mentioned the Tau'ri. I don't believe in prophecies, but since the revelation I have found myself curious about the ways of the Tau'ri. And it is known that you are well acquainted."

"You want me to set up a meeting," Bra'tac said, smiling. She nodded hesitantly.

"Then I will contact Teal'c and the Tau'ri."

**x SEIZE THE ORBIT x**

She was given a room with windows and an opening without door. She would have liked better to stay in the _Sylvester_, but it seemed inappropriate to insist upon being treated like a trusted soul when she had posed as their enemy to get here.

A young Jaffa – so young that it seemed inadequate to apply him the term warrior when it was clear that he had never been enslaved as a Jaffa warrior to the Goa'uld given his youth – brought her robes the color of lavender. They were softer than the cotton ones Bra'tac and the Jaffa wore, but of the same style. She quickly changed and redressed but felt weird knowing that the young Jaffa stood so close outside her quarters. In hindsight she could understand their wariness to allow her exploration of Dakara. In hindsight, her plan didn't make sense. It had been a guess, a mere hope that she would be allowed to see Bra'tac, let alone that he'd trust her enough to actually set up a meeting. But no, he had given her the benefit of the doubt without her really telling him what she planned to do with the Tau'ri. What would she say? She had never dealt with the Tau'ri before. Did they have any strange customs? Would they send a soldier or a spokesperson? What would Lara tell said person?

Downheartedly, she sat down at the makeshift cot in the assigned room. The lavender robe strayed the skin of her thighs, a cooling sensation. Dakara was mostly desert, a red landscape stretching in desolation for miles beyond the actual city. There were housings like the one she sat in nearby the temples and council chambers, but most of the denizens arrived by chappa-ai or ship. Out of the opening in her quarters she could see, if she squinted her eyes, the landing spot where rows of tel'taks and some other ships were located. It would be minimally risky to sneak away, but it would prove her efforts useless. She would stay and be the benefit of the doubt – for now. She had a tendency of skedaddling, something that stuck with her no matter how hard she tried. She wasn't a one-planet, home kind of girl. Neera, Sarin's daughter spoke of her home planet like it was unlike no other, a place of complete rest and paradise. Whenever Lara asked to why it made the self-proclaimed 'most restful' planet, Neera went into long descriptions and fierce reasoning, all in a total devotion that Lara envied. She liked hearing the young girl's common life, how the streams joined rivers in deltas where people would wash their clothes whenever it was low tide with minor currents. How the women would converse and talk about their simple lives, exchange experience and tips for better preparation of food or more intimate occasions. At that point Neera always blushed.

She liked, no, _appreciated_ the times with Neera; it made them both feel like they were normal people. Normal people often died by the hands of war and Goa'uld tyranny. This was an unspoken pact. What little Lara had to tell about her life before meeting them (excluding her tenancy at Erebus' court), plus a couple of white lies, she gladly told Neera. The red-haired Nomarian had an easy smile and great intuition. One time Lara had even forgotten that they were scouting a market and lost herself in passionate conversation with the forger's daughter. Forger. Con man. Whatever the job required. There was a lot of those types out there, many of which Lara had labeled as mercenaries.

Which she could also label herself. She stared out the opening, rising from the cot. The robe followed her movements, blazing lightly in the wind. The heat was dry, far from humid, and dirt was stuck between her toes. So far Dakara only impressed her in the architectural department. She knocked on the door and opened it curiously. Yeah, the young Jaffa boy was still there. He looked fourteen at most, his hair cut tight to his head, color indeterminable. His skin bore mark of generations of desert people breeding, but his eyes were kind, trying to be a man. She contained a girlish smile at seeing him. He was tall, but she outed him by a hand.

"I was wondering if I could see some of Dakara. You live here?" she asked, trying to be polite. It usually came natural to her – people who were treated politely were less inclined to proclaim theft – but considering the situation, she failed. Big time. The boy sent her a suspicious gaze as if trying to figure out her intentions, his hazel eyes narrowing horizontally until he nodded hesitantly and resumed his attempt at military posture before moving. A wooden bashaak became the appropriate wandering stick of a teenager. Even underneath the thin cotton blouse, Lara could see muscles move. Unlike previous encounters with boys his age (and below), the Jaffa boy didn't speak. He asked no questions, spoke only when needed. Clearly she had underestimated him.

She kept a similar gait, walking a couple of feet behind her escort as he led her throughout the columns. Quite solemnly he told her of the various purposes of the different meeting halls. The former temples did indeed remind her of a place of education. At one point the boy slowed down, halted shortly and glanced at a closed section of the temple. "Council Chambers."

She rose a brow and nodded, asserting it to memory. Not that she had any intentions of sneaking into said chambers. An inner rebel fought but she resisted the temptation to contemplate over the possible relics and items of value present in the currently sealed-off room.

Beyond the circle of temples laid refugee camps. The boy – not having told his name and showing no intent to do so in any near future – stated that the camps stretched for another mile into the land of Dakara. Lara had always wondered what Dakara was; the planet? The capital? The continent? The city? The temples? Now it seemed so futile. The refugee camps – because they originally were – consisted of Jaffa of any Goa'uld who had rebelled. There were fighting rings, areas of food and cooking, areas of home. Developing Jaffa culture. Jaffa rendezvous of any warrior willing to mend for past mistakes. Dakara was a place of defense and a place of salvation. Their efforts were truly admirable. Future hope grew in the camps, be they refugees or not.

Her feet were sore and the hems of her layered robes dirty by the time they retreated back to the assigned quarters. A bundle of her personal items laid on the ground near her cot. Puzzled, she looked at the boy for answers, but he merely shrugged and stared at her, saying: "Your stuff from the tel'tak. Should you need them," he added.

Once again she felt the ounce of possessiveness concerning _Sylvester_. Others had obviously intruded, collecting these items from her storage units aboard the tel'tak. She could only hope that it had been Rad'rac, who at least seemed to pick up on her maternal protection of the ship. She fumbled with the vast sleeves of the robes. Albeit its appearance, she felt very feminine in the lavender-colored clothe. Her hair was still in the high horsetail she'd styled it in during the trip here. Sitting for herself, she braided the strands, missing the presence of a good comb or brush but settling for her fingers. Then she waited, lying aware on the cot, her face against the ceiling, waiting for the boy or another Jaffa to return.

And slowly, her eyelids fluttered until they closed for good, entering a dreamless sleep where her body curled up in a ball, careless about the robes and wrinkles.

* * *

**A/N: So, she has a mission. A sorta established mission. I read somewhere that's good for you.**

**Do you like the portrayal of Lara? Anybody noticed the slight hint I made last chapter?**

**A teeny, tiny review? Anyone out there? I promise it'll be more adventurous in the next chapters!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Since I didn't quite think before posting this story, some of the things happening might seem a little unjustified or unrealistic (in the Stargate franchise), when you factor in protocols et cetera. Anyway, Sam will make an appearance in this chapter and we will soon be off to go.

I appreciated the review :D

**Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate. SG-1, Atlantis or otherwise...**

* * *

**Chapter three of CHANGING TIDES**

She ended up staying for two days before the chappa-ai activated with anything relating to her. Typically for her, she didn't take the waiting period well. She had tried searching for Rad'rac, who she felt the most comfortable with, but found herself quickly lost in the mazes of the camps. Even amongst the noble and newly freed Jaffa, she was definitely a stranger. She was provided for, fed meals twice a day and left to herself, but it was awfully lonely. The boy who had given her the tour of Dakara's temples was named Hief and lived with his mother and younger sister in the more respectable areas of the camp. He had been picked randomly and instructed to keep watch over her, so Lara quickly letted his presence go.

As predicted, Bra'tac sent for her as soon as the delegation arrived. Quickly brushing her robes for dust and loose dirt, she collected herself and hurried off to the hutlike home of Bra'tac where he and the delegation members had retired to. She had to wait for almost an hour before the master warrior appeared and allowed her into the privacy. In her days on Dakara, Lara had learned of the awe which Bra'tac invoked. He'd had busier schedules the last few days and had not been able to converse with her any more.

Lara felt nervousness stretch on her skin, itching like a bitten animal. Her throat was suddenly drier than usual, but she reminded herself that this was like any other business transaction. A pit had settled in her stomach and she felt momentarily nauseous as she stepped through the hut's entrance. Surrounding what had obviously been a bonfire sat the warrior and three fatigues-clad men, their fourth member guarding the entrance although it was needless. In her few days here, the biggest issue or argument had been teens rivaling over who'd accidentally pushed an older female Jaffa. People here kept their tempers down, an admirable trait that Lara was certain she wouldn't find elsewhere often. The leader of the delegation was of average height, even sitting down. Shadows marred his face as he greeted her, trying to appear polite and open-minded but surely assessing the situation. He introduced himself as Major Roberts. Lara assumed it was some sort of combined title and name. She nodded courtly and exchanged gazes with the rest of this team, all postures of military claim. The projectile weapons strapped to their uniforms told her of their capability.

She hadn't thought much about what she'd say when they arrived. Words could not describe the fascination. As always, she was quick to spun a lie, stating she was there to inform they of what they'd learned.

They responded with criticism and skepticism, like she was used to. After all, even if the robes did age her, she still looked like 'some irresponsible child', however, she still told them of her adventure to the mine planet, sans the hairy details about her fellow mercenaries, and was asked to described this eye. Even after she did so, they repeated their questions to make sure she wasn't remembering incorrectly. By the end of the meeting, she felt no better, feeling mixed disbelief at her words and a no nonsense attitude about this object that had given this sort of information. The more scientific member of their delegation was brought forth, and she had to repeat every detail of the eye. They did not seem to care much for her apparent connection to the eye, only the item itself, and that infuriated her. Did they think she was a simple child? That she did not possess the same curiosity as them? That they were entitled to the object out of seniority?

Frustrated, she tried to reason with them, tried to make them share their hypothesis, but they thankfully declined the notion, thanking her for her information. When Bra'tac nodded in the direction of the exit, sending a glance her way, she walked out, fuming. She kicked the sand and barely paid attention to the guard who rose a startled brow at her outburst. Without further commenting, and sending a snicker the guard's way, she retired to her assigned campsite.

Of all the possible scenarios, ignoring her would never have been on her list. How foolish were the Tau'ri? Had they not listened when she had described the mine fields? She might be a tad confident of her own and arrogant of others' abilities, but even she had needed a four-eyed accomplice to make her way through the mine fields. The mines themselves were too unstable for hyperspace approaches, the planet too close to open a window. Cursing her youthful appearance and the selfish interest the group had seemed to have in the eye, she pouted the entire way to the huts. She was a skilled pilot! So far, she merely had nobody who could attest that.

In the horizon she could see the landing spot. Would it be terrible for her to escape from here with the _Sylvester_? What made her furious was their lack of care about her in the matter. Yeah, she had told them where in the system the nearest gate would be, and that the object might be Ancient, but there were tons of information she could have kept for herself. They not only trusted her, they thought less of her! Underestimated her! Not even Erebus had done that. He had appreciated her intelligence, her wits, but reminded her of the consequences of more selfish thinking. She thought back to the days where, once every three weeks, her god would summon her and take part of detailed ledgering. She would tell him of her heists and the technology and wealth she had acquired for him. He would always, be it minor or grand, show some gratitude if not in a self-satisfied smirk at his increasing wealth at having to do nothing. Sometimes he would tell her what an excellent servant she was, and she would kneel down and accept his blessings like some other idiotic slave. Yes, and those carefully recorded meetings had taught her of the Goa'uld empire and its politics, had armed her with the weapons to use for clients of the species. The fine line between gaining trust, respect and awe all the while keeping the appearance of being a subordinary species. Some Goa'ulds, like Erebus, appreciated independent thinkers with their wits about them, while others were disgusted with the idea of such freedom in their slaves.

The Jaffa were cautious of her, but the Tau'ri wrote her off as a silly girl with semi-previous information. She could have easily taken the eye if she had thought it important or valuable, worth the effort. Listening to her words, they had discarded all information that would not serve them. While not as primitive as on other planets, the Tau'ri certainly were naïve.

**x SEIZE THE ORBIT x**

Her decision to be placed at the Midway Station had been half forced by the Air Force, who had been.. uncomfortable having her lead a team. Like, SG-1, her original team, SG-12 were no longer battling any imminent threats and that was why she had been reassigned to modify the space station between the two galaxies. She had cooperated with SG-1 almost weekly since her abrupt readmission to the Stargate program nearly two years ago, her competent team assisting the flagship unit by assumption and not by affiliation. The decision of letting her back as team leader after her so-called easy time with Dr. Bill Lee was being discussed by higher-ups when she had responded to Atlantis and mounted the assistance needed.

Now she had been offered, no, ordered to lead the expedition as a result of her vast experience with the unexpected creepy-crawlies out there and the tragic disappearance of Dr. Elizabeth Weir. Having known the woman briefly, Sam had been saddened to hear of the circumstances that had lead to her absence on the expedition. She had also been shocked at the offer, knowing the IOA's opinion of her; easily retractable.

And although she had moved barely two years ago, from California to a cheap apartment in Colorado Springs, she found it difficult to pack her things up. There were things she kept in boxes at storage facilities – things she didn't want strange guests to ask about, like why she kept a photograph of a little girl on her nightstand when there were no other photos in the apartment – because explaining was too hard for somebody, _anybody _who didn't have a child missing beyond the stars.

She had not given up on finding her daughter, but had realized with time that sitting still would get her nowhere. The program had from the very beginning of the investigation removed her from all positions of tracking down her daughter's abductors. But they had teams out there, looking for the Goa'uld responsible. Even Earth's allies had been made aware that any information on a brunette-haired child in the possession of a Goa'uld should be reported directly to them. It had been a devastating, heartbreaking twenty minutes to explain the circumstances to a visiting Lantash, who had requested to see his daughter. Up until the words leaving her mouth, he believed he would see Elara healthy and about, greeting him like any child would. But instead, he sat there, so devastated when Sam told him of that tragic night where everything had gone wrong. Where everything that meant something was taken from her. And she cried as she tried to tell him how he fought – because she expected him to blame her, like she blamed herself for not being able to protect her child – but he never lost his temper, never got so angry – at least not physically. Behind Alaric's green eyes, a fire roared, and she had not been able to release it. He had left, promising to do anything in his power, but never speaking to her again. That had been over eighteen months ago.

That was what had been hard about deciding to go to Atlantis. Leaving this galaxy, the possibility of stumbling upon her own daughter, for another where the communications seriously lacked between Earth and the City at times of desperation. She looked forward to it, of course, and was nervous out of thoughts of incompetence, but initially, it was because that pang in her chest that felt like betrayal. These were the thoughts of Colonel Samantha Carter, the minute she stepped through the event horizon on Earth, based out of Cheyenne Mountain.

**x SEIZE THE ORBIT x**

Lara accidentally rigged the armband she had noticed every soldier of the Tau'ri wore. She had even studied it up close – casually – and at a safe distance. Never once had they used it or explained its intention, but seeing as they felt comfortable around their rifles, she suspected it hadn't been weapons. So, while they took part of a ceremonial bath – or simply an offer, Lara wasn't clear on the specifics – her curiosity had been settled as she snuck into the bundles of clothes and took a closer look at the technology. It was not of Goa'uld technology, Tau'ri in design, but slightly resembled a kara'kesh like the one she kept in her hut. It had taken her weeks of study to master its full potential, but like with the rest of affinity aimed items, she had found it easy to manage, almost like it belonged on her wrist – sans the discomfort of the marks, but then again, the particular kara'kesh had not been customized for her forearm.

It seemed simple, sent radio transmissions and while she was at it, the thief in her wondered its worth. To sell it she generally had to know its purpose, but the men bathed long, and she sat undisturbed in the shade of a large tree. Nobody normally interrupted her and today was no exception. It had a small computerized screen and buttons with numbers one through nine in the interstellar language of the chappa-ai. She had not seen it used, but it fitted the descriptions of her contacts who'd seen it used.

A plan formed in her head. She snuck off to gather her things from her assigned quarters – more of a bundle of things and a pile of clothes – and returned to the platform of the chappa-ai to await their departure.

So, when she tried to follow the delegation back, hoping the piece of technology would spare her a fate awaiting the ones who traveled without through the iris, she was apprehended the moment she stepped through the event horizon on the other side of the wormhole, the men of the delegation in front of her, aiming their projectile weapons at her with multiple other officers doing the very same. Her breath clotted in her throat and she attempted a defensive stance, but realized – as her eyes traveled over the crowd of military members of the Tau'ri to scientists and officers – that there would be no way out of this hairy situatuon. After hesitation, she slowly raised her hands in surrender, taking in the very structure of their first line of defense. Above the room with concrete and steel walls sat men and women behind a glass wall, their expression harsh and brows knitted; stern and authoritative, she nearly shuddered under their supervision, but calmed down irritably as she realized that there would be no fighting out of here.

She was shackled like some slave, the weight holding her tanned wrists down. Everyone on the base – for that was what it must have been – wore military clothes, medical coats or uniforms with dark blue insignias on it in a language that did not resemble Goa'uld the slightest and visibly tried to avoid eye contact with her. An electric current ran through her shackles as a hum in the back of her head, making her feel weak and crippled as she began to totter. She was stripped of her weapons, disarmed, but gritted her teeth dangerously when the officers stepped too close. These people were far more naïve but were nevertheless friends of the kind Bra'tac. She wasn't completely without mercy; these people had fought bravely against the Goa'uld and come out winning. The empire was not crushing under the very feet of its former rulers, and yet she stated that bitterly. She had flourished on the riches and the envies of the Goa'uld, and had now resorted to the jobs of a mere mercenary.

It was amazing she'd even been allowed to remain conscious – yes, she had identified the stunners the men carried and knew of their power from tales of other mercenaries who had stumbled upon the Tau'ri on a bad day – as they lead her through so many corridors that she ended up confused as to where they were bringing her. Clearly their intention.

After what seemed like a ten minute's worth of being half-dragged through the quarters, she found herself in an almost interrogative room. There were no torture devices visible, yet she remained on edge. The walls were bare except for a dark glass frame as if some sort of turned-off screen and by the upper corner of the room, a camera rested presumably giving off a feed of everything she did. The officers who escorted her did not remove her shackles once they left her alone, simply yanked her to a plastic chair and sent her glares of sternness and uncertainty. She shrugged it off as confusion; of all the people whom she had seen at the base, she was by far the youngest, maybe even by decades. Then again, she had never been truthful about her age – and its original number was now a blur in her memory – but they were wrong to underestimate her because she looked like some girl. She quickly did an analysis of the handcuffs – primitive in appearance, but affective as they gave off a small pulse once she started touching it to tear it apart piece by piece. Assessing it wasn't cooperating with her, she stated that it was of no Goa'uld origin.

Lara had never been comfortable being assessed or studied like some lab rat. In fact, she grimaced as she glanced at the camera. It was safe to bet that the delegation's superiors were currently debriefing them about her level of danger. It had been stupid of her to be so naïve to think she would be able to piggyback their journey and remain safe. Part of her wondered if the _Sylvester _was safe on Dakara now where she had betrayed their trust. She was arrogantly full of potential, but now faced an uncertain future. She could always offer her services – she had done so since escaping the fortress of Erebus.

The door opened. A man in military fatigues stepped in, his face stern but also human enough for his eyes to wander her, trying to make up an unbiased opinion of her. By the file in his hand, she figured that he had already been briefed on her. Or maybe he had done the debriefing herself. He practically radiated authority – and that was partially the reason why she submissively slipped back into her assigned chair with the slightest of all winces. He was aged, but his eyes were alive with service and duty. He would not be easily manipulated, and Lara knew the look of experience form her clientele. He would not be fooled by half-truths unless she made sure they stayed sincere. He was overweight, but only from lack of field service, his body fit and bulky, intimidating even if he was not the tallest man on base. His eyes almost pierced her conscience as he steadily and calmly sat down across from her, eyeing the security camera before turning all his attention on her. She suddenly felt queasy.

"My file says you're a guest of the Jaffa," he spoke solemnly. "Is that true?"

She nodded, somehow knowing that a long explanation wasn't what this man of authority was looking for. No, simple answers, complex truths.

"It doesn't say your name," he said. "which is?"

"Lara Kellogg," she replied, facing him. "Yours?"

He chuckled. It made her frown, but his reply seemed honest. "General Hank Landry."

"You in charge here?"

He nodded. "And I pose the questions, miss Kellogg."

"Just Lara," she replied, her eyes studying him curiously.

"Well, Lara," he started, "we're in some jam here. You see, you stole and reprogrammed one of our IDCs."

"One of them," she defended herself, "and I loaned it shortly. Interesting design, I must say."

Evidently, he did not find it funny as his expression hardened. "We take theft very seriously, Lara. And to be frank, if it hadn't been for your youth and what my officers said about you, you would be on your way to our detainment facilities."

"I know too much," she clarified and remarked, "to be frank."

His military dress shirt was light blue and she found herself studying the bird insignia as she processed the meaning of his words. It sure spelled trouble. However, she was known for her agility and ability to come up with a plan. He had brought a clipboard with the files and she caught herself staring. Then she locked her eyes onto her shackles and gritted her teeth. Suddenly, she could see all the components in it in front of her inner eye; its functions, mechanisms and innermost pieces. Entranced, she squinted as if it'd help.

"You see," he said, "–to be.."

He stopped as a small click from the shackles was heard, breaking his formal speech. They unlocked on their own accord, a bluish glimpse identifying them as Ancient, the glyphs omniscient. She gasped herself, but clearly the general did not expect it either. Slowly, she rubbed her wrists, appearing calm even if her mind raged with confusion, and looked at the general. He had paled considerably. Lara almost smirked, then remembered her current situation. Armed guards were probably already being dispatched to the cell-like room. The opportunist in her cringed as another part of her felt bad for the old man, who was at least sixty years of age.

"How did you do that?" he asked, trying to appear unfazed by what had just happened.

"I-I don't know," she admitted. "I have certain.. affinities for certain pieces of technology."

"Which is why you brought a Goa'uld hand device with you," Landry said almost vehemently. "We consider that a dangerous weapon."

"It's useless," Lara was quick to say, "I haven't been a host to a symbiote."

"Why did you bring it, then?"

Through a forced smile, she said: "Sentimental value." Looking at his expression, she decided to spin that into a believable story. "I took it from the temple of a Goa'uld who fled through the chappa-ai through another host. I have been looking for him ever since."

"Master Bra'tac tells me that you posed as a Goa'uld yourself and mastered its power, much like with these handcuffs. I want to know why."

"I don't know why," Lara bluntly stated, almost desperately. "I wanted to see the Tau'ri through the Jaffa. I am not sorry or about to apologize for that." Her hands were on the table, clinging to it with frustration. The plain shirt she had worn under her robes was disheveled and one sleeve had slid down her shoulder along with the robes. The base had ventilation ducts and the chilly air made her skin – accustomed to desert planets and lately Dakara – appear in small bumps all over her body, but her frustration warmed her. She had always been hotheaded, but able to conceal it once her respect or money had been earned. However, despite her intuition saying that this man was a man of honor and of keeping his promise, he gave off a bad vibe.

"We cannot let you go like this. Knowing what you know about our IDCs."

She rose a casual brow, trying to take back her dignity. "Is that what you call them? The access codes to your chappa-ai defense mechanism?"

"Our Stargate has its own defense, yes, miss Ke- Lara, but how do we resolve this? It is in the middle of the night, so the delegate from our IOA is not here, but I assure you, according to protocol, you should be in chains on your way to a detainment facility never to be seen again."

"I am a mercenary, General Landry," Lara said with the gleam of bargaining in her blue eyes. Her appearance mattered not; her words, however, did. "I am sure we could strike a deal for my services. A contract so to speak. Your IOA," she spat with disdain, having detected the same note of annoyance traced in Landry's words, "will never have to know."

He actually seemed to consider it for a moment. Or maybe he found her proposal astonishing. Perhaps it was her enthusiasm. Whatever it was, he sat there, his mouth slightly agape, his gaze like he was doing some deep contemplating. Then he closed his mouth, cleared his throat just as two guards stormed in, aiming rifles much like the ones the delegation to Dakara had worn at her. She widened her eyes and froze, not moving her eyes from their place at the table, afraid it might be misinterpreted as refusal to cooperate. The leader of the guards glared at her before looking at Landry.

"General, are you alright?" he questioned in a no-nonsense manner.

"I'm fine, Major, this little miss Lara did not harm me in any way. In fact, she was as shocked as I was when these handcuffs broke. When you are here anyway, can you get Dr Lee down here? He might be able to ascertain why our latest discovery failed us. But I can assure you and your team that this prisoner is in no way harming me." He said the last with a chuckle.

"Yes, sir, Dr Lee should have recovered from his work aboard Midway," the team leader grinned doubtfully as he glanced in Lara's direction. Slowly, he radioed in, summoning said doctor, before motioning to his colleagues to retreat.

Landry sat back down, assuming a negotiating stance as soon as he had cleared the small room, surprisingly without having her re-handcuffed in lieu of getting the doctor – who looked nothing like a healer, but more of a scientist despite his title – to take away the shackles, a clear break of protocol as he also ordered him to unlock the shackles at her feet. She tried to readjust her robes, but grew frustrated and removed them, baring her cotton pants and black shirt to him. She rose her chin in defiance and strength, sending him a smile she would send clients.

**x SEIZE THE ORBIT x**

Her bundle of things was confiscated – Landry claimed he could not allow her to leave with them – and she was assigned quarters with armed guards, stowed away to avoid the suspicious eyes of the IOA (whatever that was, Lara thought, they had to be a force to be reckoned with). A day passed, and a meal appeared in the slot of the door. The vegetables tasted funny, but she ate anyway, afraid she would not see regular meals for some time. As it passed – time, of course, – she grew impatient and wondered if Landry had tricked her. Despite his air of integrity, she found herself doubting his every word.

She thought about Sitra and Rad'rac and Dakara in general. Of Hief, Bra'tac and _Sylvester_. Yeah, she regretted posing as Sitra, a Goa'uld, but in the end, it brought her to Dakara and to the Tau'ri. She had lied and deceived and manipulated to get here, and now she had placed her life in the hands of a seemingly capable general, forgetting all she had learned in space about con artists and scams. Miron certainly would have rolled his eyes at her; Sarin and Neera would have been confused, and Debian? Well, she was not sure where she had the man, but she had earned his respect, and to tell him this would be something she would never do. He might have underestimated her on the job aboard the Sylvester heading for the treasure on the mine field planet, but by the end of it, he had offered his partnership to her – a touching gesture, and a good offer, but what the eye had said that rattled her from opportunities and let her to spend her days on planets like Simarka before getting her spirits together enough to pose as Sitra, a Goa'uld for god's sake!

Lara was called on by day two. She laid sleepily in her bed when a fatigues-clad Major Roberts opened the door to her confinement and hurried her along. She grabbed the stuff she had been allowed to keep – sans the kara'kesh, of course – and looked down her body to check if she was properly dressed for whatever had caused the Major to irritably look over his own shoulder at each turn of corridor. He yanked her bicep so hard that she through gritted teeth reminded him that she was here voluntarily and that any evidence stating otherwise would get her thrown into any dungeons they had. He eyed her weirdly but his grip loosened. She followed him faithfully into a room that resembled the one she had been to the first day. Then Landry appeared and hastily explained why and how – the only things she required.

"We've established contact to another base which has been, let's say unavailable for contact for the past week, and I have signed the paperwork for you to be transferred there."

"How do you know I won't just skedaddle once I get there?" she asked, knowing it was on both their minds.

He chuckled, the heart-warming sound that she had trouble adjusting to. She couldn't quite figure him out. "That would be inadvisable, but I would like to see you try. The OIA has decided to go with me on this, but we need to hurry along before they change their minds. This deal involves you hanging around for a year. Afterwards, you can go. Trust me on this, this is the lesser of two evils."

She couldn't quite point her finger at what made her trust his words. She knew the alternative of refusing this deal; imprisonment on unspecified time. And seeing as she had nobody who truly cared if she returned or not (perhaps Miron, but he had no idea where she was), it truly was the lesser of two evils. She nodded, swallowing before realizing that she had no idea where she was getting stationed.

"Where is this base?" she asked.

There was an unsettling gleam in Landry's eyes. "Atlantis, the Pegasus galaxy. Seeing how the artifact responded to you, you might prove useful."

"The Pegasus galaxy?" she gasped subtly, widening her eyes. "But-"

"Are you taking the deal, Lara?"

Her blood ran cold. Another galaxy to explore? With the promise of return? Was there really another alternative? Not one she would accept. "Yes."

She was given an extra set of clothes and what little belongings she had and little time to change as they dialed their "Midway station", which was, according to Landry and the technical operators, the stop between the Tau'ri planet and the Pegasus galaxy. As she discarded her clothes, putting it into a plastic box, an item fell out of it, revealing it to be the kara'kesh. She froze, not knowing what to do. She could not remember which of the officers had brought the new clothes, but her mind thought quickly and she putted the hand device next to the healing device in her assigned bag. Then she stepped into what they called the embarkation room and she watched as they dialed to another galaxy – how was that even possible? As the wormhole was established, she heard muffled voices, spun around to face the general in his glass office, his expression stern as if he had heard news that disturbed him and his planning, and she was then roughly pushed into the event horizon by one of the SFs, landing somewhere blunt as the world around her went black, her forearms bracing her for the fall.

**A/N: It's been forever, and I apologize. I hope this makes up for it. **


End file.
